


Carp Diem

by 11dishwashers



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Sailing, fisherman! suho, siren! chen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11dishwashers/pseuds/11dishwashers
Summary: Fisherman Junmyeon seeks refuge during a storm. He ends up in the home of an attractive siren.





	Carp Diem

For days, Junmyeon only sees red and blue. He's used to it, but then again, he's also used to seeing silver too. But the electricity in the air must have scared all the fish away. He doesn't see the slivers shining up from the water anymore, just a surface like dirty glass. He sighs and leans against the other side of the boat. It rocks slightly, seemingly as restless as Junmyeon himself. 2 days on the sea, all the fish are gone, he's depending on his stash of cereal bars by this point. Drifting.

Nothing happens all day, there's no sun so he doesn't even go redder than he already is from the raw blood. 

The sea air hums to him, clouds roll by. And then there's that singing. Wait...

Junmyeon sits up, looking around, singing? Rather high pitched, too. But the voice is beautiful. He has no idea where it's coming from, but if there's a chance that a ship(or a boat)'s going by, or that there's land somewhere not so far... well. There's not much he can do but grab the oars and follow his ears.

 

 

 

The rocks are all jagged under Jongdae's feet, they've been this way since the tides grew strong and broke them down one by one. It's shallow now, sea drowning the rock pools so that the unattached starfishes float along. He crouches down even though he'd rather sit, since the rocks are still soaked with salt and a few barnacles cling. They hurt to touch, he's learned.

As all sirens know, the bad weather is great for hunting. Many sailors are just looking for refuge for one night. The wind out in the ocean comes as howls, terrifying ones, and they won't make you adjust either- all night you'll lie in your cabin, back hurting from thin mattresses, but no sleep will come. Jongdae hasn't been in a whole lot of ships, but he's truthfully able to say that his little house is far comfier.

The bottom line is, he expects sailors to wash ashore. Especially when he runs a hand over his throat and sings. His voice comes out cramped. After all, he's been at this for too long, and no one's shown. He's always taken care of his vocal chords, seeing as they're his main weapon- his bait, but none of the plants grow in winter and there's not much food left. He'd eaten a starfish for lunch. A starfish. It tasted like gone off sponge, if such a thing were to exist. He's gagging just thinking about the orange skin peeling in his very hands, and the song is ruined. 

If it were any season, he'd only be singing to himself. He doesn't need sailors when he has other sources of food. But here he is, screeching his esophagus out to a possibly absent audience. 

As a failure, he turns and walks back up the shoreline, to where the sand disintegrates to tallgrass and his familiar path lies. 

Back at the house, he boils more drinking water and distracts himself with old books from some of the boats that had been hijacked. They're all monotonous. Most are encyclopedias of saltwater fish, and their hooks, and their size. But sometimes there's a good old mystery novel, or a collection of romance stories from lonely sailors out at sea. In the darkness he can barely see the pages and he doesn't want to waste matches, so instead the books are cast aside. 

Past the curtains, there's a twinkle that can't be attributed to the stars. Jongdae inches up to the glass with excitement. 

Orange dot, sole lantern out at sea. It's growing bigger. 

There's no time to do anything but run, run, run.

 

Junmyeon takes to counting his own eyelashes. Not that his hands are free to do so, no, he's listlessly looking downwards and squinting in an attempt to see his  lower eyelids. He's just so bored. For nights, it's been dark blue and orange. He doesn't think he's seen anyone but himself for at least a week. There's water left; he's not stupid, he always has more than necessary for such situations as this. Learned from experience. Junmyeon, admittedly, gets lost at sea quite often.

But now he's crossing new lines of stupidity. For crying out loud, who leaves the harbour during bad weather season? Great, just great. 

But he perseveres- keeps rowing even though he's practically in deep sleep. And then the singing starts again, which causes him to finally look up. He's approaching shore, and he's approaching it fast.  

The source of the sound is one short figure, perched on the pointy rocks. It's a man, one who you can barely see in one of the darkest nights of the year. But he's there, with his amazing voice, and as Junmyeon draws closer the lantern casts light on his sharp cheekbones. Junmyeon marvels at the sight for as long as he's not embarrassed with himself for doing so. .  The boat stops when it weighs into the stand, and Junmyeon balances up to the front of it so he won't get his shoes soaked. He swears the man's trying not to laugh, as Junmyeon isn't exactly graceful, and he almost trips when the rope he uses for docking gets looped around the top of his shoe. It's a bad impression of himself, but not an inaccurate one. He doesn't know what's meant to happen next.

The wind picks up a bit, cards through his hair as he stands aimlessly. The man steps down and walks over, smiling impossibly, and his eyes wrinkling too much for someone his age. But it's cute, like the rest of him. And his oversized sweater that's unintentionally fashionable. That's cute, too. Junmyeon goes a bit pink in the face, though he doubt it shows up due to the darkness, and also his peeling sunburn. His nose could start peeling off at any minute now.

"Um, I'm Junmyeon," he says.

 

 

"Um, I'm Junmyeon," he says. Jongdae tries not to check him out so obviously, but really, he's never seen anyone his own age before. Let alone a man this hot(sunburn joke, haha). Like that should be an embarrassing statement to even write as narrative, but Jongdae is completely shameless- though this is a new development as of right now. Before, he had nothing to be shameless about but his singing. Sailors are generally old and they taste like tough meat, or that starfish that's sitting at the bottom of Jongdae's stomach. But this one is particularly interesting. Jongdae thinks he might even be too good to eat at all, more to be stuffed and looked at. 

Predictably, Jongdae forgets to respond until Junmyeon's sweating out of nervousness and wondering if Jongdae even speaks korean in the first place. Jongdae realises this when Junmyeon's hair gets plastered to his forehead, brown curly locks, all frizzy from the humidity and sea air. They're distracting too. "You're a sailor, right?" Jongdae asks before he loses his words again. His voice comes out all scratched up; from wailing his stupid song for the last half hour, or maybe from something else. He doesn't dwell on it. 

"A fisherman," Junmyeon replies, scratching behind his ears. His fingers are bloody after, and Jongdae realises this must be a nervous habit. He doesn't feel so enticed from the smell of the blood though, which is equal parts surprising and unsurprising. He doesn't exactly know when the idea of eating Junmyeon lost its appeal, but he knows he'd like to try other things, too, things he can't understand by himself on this island- he's lived alone for so alone and it'd be impossible to know what the pink in his face means exactly. "Not a very good one, maybe," nervous laughter. So, so nervous.

"It's probably not your fault. The fish don't really go near the surface during bad weather season," Jongdae gets his basis for this statement off of the rock pools that are currently drowning in sea. In summer, they swirl with foam that collect around the edges. If you run a stick along the foam and it separates, the small silverfish scatter about just below the surface. But they sink to the bottom in winter, bellies on the sand even though they're alive, since the rain beats down on them if they rise too far upwards and they start to flail.  He thinks a fisherman should understand this much- after all, he knows without any experience in a boat that's not docked. To be truthful, he's just well read. 

"I haven't eaten in a while," Junmyeon admits. "And I've lost my way."

"Where were you headed?"

Junmyeon shrugs, visibly embarrassed. He steps from one foot to the other(managed to keep his shoes dry, Jongdae notes). "I never have a destination, not really." 

"Oh?" A grin splits across Jongdae's face; one that he's incredibly aware of. He's sure his eyes have scrunched up too. An idiot. "That's *very* interesting."

They don't really talk after that, Junmyeon seems unnerved and Jongdae's too worried about making him more nervous to do anything at all. But it's dark, and cold, and Jongdae ate a starfish for lunch. He won't stand much more out here, not with the wind picking up. 

He starts walking up the shoreline again, a familiar route, not at all expecting Junmyeon to follow but acting like he is just so he can turn around and say "Come on, then." 

Junmyeon nods and scurries over. He's so cute, Jongdae thinks as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets. Eating him would be a waste. It's not like Jongdae only eats humans, anyway. Just when there's nothing else.

And if he digs through his shelves some more, he might find something salvageable. But then he'll have to share it with hopeful Junmyeon, and they'll be back to square one, legs buzzing from exhaustion and hunger. Only time will tell. 

"You can call me Jongdae, by the way."

 

 

"It's not much to look at," Jongdae says, but he doesn't apologise. 

"I live in a boat. I don't even have a roof," Junmyeon replies. 

The house-not-house isn't even near the bottom of the list when it comes to what Junmyeon has seen, he would even call it charming. Being a fisherman, he often has to stop at land to sell his fish or buy food, and he's seen so many shacks that are barely supported by the planks of wood trying to hold them up that the four by four box room Jongdae lives in is practically nothing. In a way, it reminds Junmyeon of his cousin's studio apartment he'd visited once. 

There's a rickety table, wood somewhat split on the surface so that there are all these grooves snaking across it. One chair. He wonders if Jongdae has ever lived with someone before this, before shaking the thought out of his head- they only met about half an hour ago, after all. Yet Junmyeon is intrigued. He often starts to wonder things about Jongdae- like does he get all lonely on his own out here? Or does he like it? 

Junmyeon's eyes follow him as he plops down on the bedding in the far corner. It's a thin mattress on the floor, duvet crumpled but new looking. Junmyeon wouldn't have caught it if not for the white sheets, but just outside the window that faces the sea, clothes hang from a washing line. They flutter gently- the wind's still picking up. 

Junmyeon sets the lantern(Jongdae asked him to bring it up with him) on the table and sits. He should ask for a map, maybe. There are piles of books stacked up by the bedding- Jongdae's sure to have one. 

"We should eat," Jongdae says then, after a considerable amount of silence. "To be honest, there's not a whole lot around here to eat in winter, but I'll see what I can do," and then he goes over to the cupboards, opening them so a cloud of dust flows out. 

"I can help look?"

Jongdae turns and looks back at Junmyeon, and this is the first time Junmyeon gets a real look at him- not in the dark, or from a kilometer away on a rocking boat, but standing right above him. He's good looking, Junmyeon knows. Unhelpfully good looking. Helplessly good looking. Good looking, as in, good-god-will-Junmyeon-ever-get-over-himself? good looking. For fucks sake. 

Junmyeon doesn't look away, waits for a response. He gets one a few seconds later.

"Yeah," Jongdae turns away again. "That'd be nice." 

Junmyeon blinks. This is the first time Jongdae's ever seen shy, granted, they've only known each other for half an hour- but he'd never of thought it back when Jongdae was blabbering about whatever he laid his eyes on on the walk up to the house. 

He drops down next to him. Their knees are brushing, which is incredibly distracting. . Having lived the majority of his life with only two fixed things- red and blue, Junmyeon almost understands himself, and his reasoning for the nervousness that doesn't crash through him in waves, but rather coats his insides, layer after layer. The blue had been the sea, predictably so. The red was brighter than he remembers; fish blood. It's not all he knows. One can't travel as much as him and remain ignorant, he knows how life could be, how it would've gone if he'd never risen to the harbour back in Jeju with something that wasn't meant for long distances. But much like himself, the boat pulled through. Drifted aimlessly most of the time. But sometimes, Junmyeon would pick up the oars and try, and that was enough. 

Jongdae hums, and it's just a little rougher than his singing voice. The contents of the press are pretty vast, most being too far in to even see with the lantern. Junmyeon wonders how far back the cupboard goes, it seems to extend further than the wall. He knows he's small and everything, but it's saying something that he could crawl in. "There's so much stuff," he says, running a finger along the peeling label- *2 for 1!*- on a bottle of detergent. There's probably a shop nearby. Maybe if he arrived earlier, they could've trekked up to it. But then again, if he'd arrived earlier, Jongdae would probably not have been waiting for him(was he? Did he see Junmyeon on the horizon?).

"Yeah, I like to stock up," Jongdae says. "You never know what you'll need. But this year, the island's been quieter, and I wasn't able to bulk up on food."

"Is it just you here?"

"Yeah," Jongdae replies wistfully. Junmyeon knows how that feels. 

"No shops?" He then asks, and Jongdae looks like he won't answer for a second- he pauses in the middle of moving some bottles of suncream out of the way, faltering. 

"Sometimes merchants show up," he murmurs. "No idea why. There's nothing for anyone here."

Junmyeon lets the silence hang for a moment. He gets the feeling that Jongdae doesn't want to talk about it, there's something about the line of his shoulders; too high up, like he's hunching. But in the end, Junmyeon's always been a curious asshole. So he goes on. "Even you?"

"Especially me."

They leave it at that. The guilt eats at Junmyeon, until he finds a half full bag of rice somewhere near the back. Then they're rejoicing like it's chocolate or something, which is admittedly much, *much* better. 

 

 

Jongdae doesn't tell Junmyeon that generally, he eats the merchants. And their wares. And that he has about 26 bottles of assorted cleaning products from the ships that have crashed. But as soon as they find the packet of rice, he completely forgets about all of that anyway. Because he's fucking starving, and because Junmyeon's also fucking starving. Hey, they have something in common, right? They both grin, except Jongdae's is inevitably wider, even though Junmyeon's actually pushes his cheeks up so he squints slightly. It's the cutest thing about him, among other Cutest Things About Him. 

Then reality snaps at Jongdae, who's boiling some water in the kettle. 

"I'm going to be honest," he starts, because he's a good person. "A ship will most definitely crash in the storm, and then we can raid its kitchen for more food."

"Okay," is all Junmyeon says, which is both parts surprising and relieving. 

"Aren't you like, against stealing or something?"

"It's not really stealing if they're dead," Junmyeon says, to which Jongdae can't help but laugh, shaking his head. "And besides, you have to do what you have to do." 

Jongdae smiles down at the kettle, even though the smile isn't directed at the kettle per se. It just so happens that he can be a little shy sometimes. But he's never shy around kitchen appliances. "I can already tell I like you," he doesn't try to read too deep into his statement, and hopes Junmyeon does the same (or does he? Love can happen quickly, right?). Junmyeon looks at him, at his hands. Jongdae feels a little insecure suddenly, which is something he's never really felt before. 

He pours the water into a pan when the steam starts rising out of the spout, and it sizzles slightly against the rusted metal. The rice goes around in a whirlpool when he stirs with one of the plastic spatulas, the one with the pink rubber paddle, and he sighs contentedly at the thought of not having to eat starfish, or Junmyeon.

"Dining like kings," Junmyeon says, but he doesn't sound disappointed. He stands next to Jongdae the whole time, even though his legs are surely tired. 

 

 

When they eat, they both sit on the bedding, seeing as Jongdae says it'll be weird if one sits on the chair, looking down at the other. Again, their legs are crossed so their knees are brushing. 

Jongdae breaks the silence after a while. "You've seen the world, right?" he asks, and Junmyeon nearly drops his fork into his bowl. It tastes like metal on his tongue, but not in that nothing way. Like licking an iron gate. It's ignorable, at best. 

"Not really," he says. "I've been around the place, I guess. I still don't know how I ended up here."

"Because of my voice," Jongdae smirks, then holds his bowl up to his face to lick the starch water off of it, and Junmyeon can't look away even though it's absolutely disgusting. Then he follows suit because damn it, rice isn't enough for an empty stomach(neither is starch water, if he's honest, but that's the only other option right now). 

"Maybe a bit, but not in the way you think," Junmyeon says honestly. Sure, he likes good singing, but what the beautiful voice really meant was that land was nearby. And that was all he needed at the time- not some sort of opera show, even one that would sound as good as Jongdae did. 

"You *loved* my singing," the smirk widens. 

"Sure I did."

"Yeah you- wait what?" Jongdae looks taken aback from a simple compliment, and it's honestly pretty cute. But Junmyeon figures if he says that Jongdae might combust. Or be incredibly pleased.

"You have a good voice," Junmyeon shrugs. Being nonchalant is wasting too much of his energy. He should shut up.

Then, Jongdae's singing the scales, high low high high high, until the pitch gets too much and he cracks. Anyone would be embarrassed in such a situation, but he just laughs at himself and reaches for Junmyeon's bowl to stack on his own. He doesn't make Junmyeon help wash the dishes even though it's only fair, and he'll end up doing it anyway with the heaps of washing up liquid bottles under the sink. 

That night, he sleeps on the mattress, and Jongdae takes the floor. He doesn't know how to feel about it. All he can do is drift away happily(and even with a little twinge of guilt for Jongdae's sleeping situation), like he used to be able to do on the sea. 

 

 

As things unfold, they have to skip breakfast, but only for as long as their curiosity allows it. When Jongdae wakes up and turns on his side so he's no longer facing the bare wall, he sees Junmyeon with his cheek smushed against the pillow and his hair in even messier curls that yesterday, somehow. Since Jongdae's a walking cliche, he contemplates brushing them out of Junmyeon's eyes. He can't bring himself to do it. Maybe it's for the best.

In any case, it's quite nice to wake up with company. He hasn't really experienced it before. It's always just been him, in every nook and cranny he looked, everything he glanced at was because of him, everything he did was for himself. So when he lays out some clothes by Junmyeon's head, the fond feeling stirring in him doesn't help. Get a grip, Jongdae, it's been a day- but he doesn't even remind himself of this little fact. It doesn't matter when there's a cute boy sleeping a foot away from him.

"Good morning," he says, more to himself, as he picks his shoes up from by the door. They're old and ratty, and he's never gone a day without sand in his socks. Except for when he has lazy days and lies in bed all day. It's a lonely life out here, but it doesn't have to be. Not really.

Jongdae thinks about leaving again as he does up the laces. They're frayed at the ends, as the metal tongues of them had ripped off somewhere along the line and he'd been left with the whispy ends of torn string. Among sailors, it's hard to find shoes that fit him. He's short and quite young and has never really worked a day in his life for anyone's benefit but his own. Nothing a sailor could ever do would fit him.  Accordingly, he wears an old pair of running shoes that were red but faded pink, and have seen better days overall, but not with Jongdae himself. Maybe yesterday, now that he thinks about it. Smiling, pushing the door open. The weather is good yet detached. Sun out, but the temperature's low enough for rain. . Life could be like this every day- a good mood that never ends. 

 

 

He's amidst a pile of planks when Junmyeon comes strolling down the path, wearing the clothes Jongdae had laid out for him, eyes wide. Raising both hands to give him the thumbs up. And then they're both grinning triumphantly because *a ship crashed* by the rocks, and with it, supplies. Lucky charm.

"Look what I told you," Jongdae calls out. He's really tangled in the ruins, splinters digging into him at all directions. Scrounging about these wrecks is always a hassle with great pay off, though his back gets sore from crouching down to check under things all day. The wood is moldy, and it almost crumbles when he so much as nudges it. The storm must have picked up last night. He watches Junmyeon sidle over out of the corner of his eye, wondering how long it’ll be before' he leaves. 

Junmyeon's ship is fine for the most part, after all. It got knocked upside since they left it there last night, so all his hooks sit somewhere on the ocean floor. But he'd carried a fishing rod and set it by the door, and the lantern too. It's not too bad of an outcome- unlike the ruins of whatever crew had been out on the sea last night, Junmyeon didn't go anywhere near the rocks, and so everything's intact.

One of the reasons why Jongdae left before Junmyeon woke up was to check if there were any corpses. And he'd found one, embedded between two particularly sharp rocks. He'd only eaten the left hand and gnawed at the right ankle, before throwing it back into the sea out of nervousness. It'll tide him over. 

Now he scrounges for human food, and since he's part human aswell, he should be able to eat. The ship was small but robust. Seeing as not much had broken down despite the gale, they should be able to climb into the hollow of it. It's a wonder how calm the island is at day, how the wind only slightly ruffles Junmyeon's hair, and Jongdae's blocked from it from all sides. "Come here," he says, "And keep the thing steady."

Junmyeon nods immediately, stepping over some loose ends before leaning over the edge of the rocks so he's facing nothing but blue. He doesn't look nervous, and Jongdae supposes the drop isn't too big anyway. Junmyeon reaches out and holds what he can, keeps the boat steady so Jongdae can step onto the deck, where it hasn't splintered at the top, where it's still intact past the mast. He hesitates but it doesn't sink, and so he smiles to Junmyeon("don't let me drown, for the love of god") before reaching the ladder that goes below deck with only some minor swerves. 

In the darkness of what's assumedly the supply room, Jongdae finds even more cleaning products, boat wax(from the feel of the cylinder packaging), and a few boxes of cans that have slid down to the end of the ship that's submerged. He practically runs down, wanting to leave ASAP, and brings the box back up the ladder. 

"Thank fuck," he grins when Junmyeon and him move their finds back to the house. The box sits on the table, smelling like salt and dust somehow. It's filled with canned foods, like soup and vegetables. Jongdae knows why, has seen the bodies with rotten gums wash up onshore- scurvy affects a good quarter of the people he finds and he refuses to eat anyone with it. It'll sit wrong in his stomach, like rotten food threatening to become bile, and he'll be disgusted with even himself. He doesn't really like eating people, anyway. Not that he can for the moment. When he looks up from the table, Junmyeon's watching him with soft eyes that make his insides flip. 

"Don't you get lonely?" Junmyeon asks, carefully, like he's been wanting to know for a while now but couldn't get the phrasing right. A moment of quiet follows where Jongdae just sits in his one chair, looking back up, and it's getting darker so that the lights in places far away have turned on but there's no way to tell when you have no contact with the outside world. 

He cracks a smile. "Sure I do, but aren't you the same? Out on the sea all day?"

"Maybe, but I see the world."

Jongdae flinches at that. He can't dig a response out of himself on time, and then Junmyeon's putting a hand on his shoulder. They stay like that for a bit, through the silence and dimming lights. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Junmyeon murmurs, drawing little symbols on Jongdae's shoulderblade with his index finger. It makes his skin crawl, but that doesn't have to be a bad feeling. 

"You're leaving after the storm," a statement, not a question. Junmyeon doesn't look at him. 

 

 

 

They eat then, sitting next to each other on the mattress. Knees brushing. 

The canned cherries taste the best out of the lot, like the food Junmyeon wishes he could eat all the time, sweet and shiny. He holds the can with one hand and keeps the other consciously by his side. He wouldn't want to let his hand brush against Jongdae's, or maybe he would, but he can't anyway. He's a nervous wreck; has been for the whole day. Jongdae fucks him up a bit- his smiles are curly and charming, and his hair is chronically messy, but it still flops over his forehead with a neat natural parting that middle school girls would be jealous of. Relatable.

They fill the silence most of the time. The refreshing thing is, is that it's not just Jongdae rattling on. Junmyeon isn't exactly a quiet person- he's more middlegrounded. But he's exceptionally polite when it comes to everyday speech. Most people talk over him just because he allows it. He's the one you forget about, the one that's barely present.

Except with Jongdae.

"Do you like fishing, then?" he asks, having laid down on his back with his knees still bent. The ceiling isn't particularly interesting, and his eyes slip closed, giving Junmyeon all the time in the world to look. And he does, as the sky progressively dims until there's nothing left but orange tinted darkness. 

"I sort of have to," Junmyeon had responded just as it occurred, "But it can be relaxing."

Later, They're both just lying there. Pretending not to notice the fact that their shoulders are practically  against each other. Junmyeon doesn't feel electricity under his skin, more like the awareness that if he can feel Jongdae, Jongdae surely can feel him too. They say first romances are equal parts shyness and admiration. He keeps it in the back of his mind, along with the other thoughts that wriggle around in his brain, picking at his weak parts until they cause headaches. Fortunately, this seemed to stop after he (somewhat) ended up on the island. Because what matters to Jongdae, matters to Junmyeon, and nothing else. Because Jongdae knows how to live in a place and Junmyeon knows how not to. 

"I never really have visitors," Jongdae tells him, sleep thick in his voice. "That's why the place is such a mess, you know. I'm not exactly trying to impress anyone."

"I like it, it reminds me of my cousin's place."

"Really?"

Junmyeon nods, forgetting that they can't see each other momentarily. "He has a studio apartment, which is where there’s like-"

“Shut up, I know what a studio apartment is,” Jongdae lies. How would he know anyway? He’s seen cities before, but that’s about it. The buildings are hard to discern in the photos- they seem to be colourcoded and filed. They’re built around roads, not the other way around. In the maps, it just looks like someone dumped a bowl of geometric noodles onto the paper and photocopied. Jongdae doesn’t think he and cities get along too well. But then again, what would he know?

While Jongdae tries to pull together what he knows about the world beyond his very own horizon, like postcards with static to fill the blanks between the pictures, a silence ensues that they don't seem to catch onto immediately. Or, Junmyeon doesn't. If he'd caught it earlier he would've said something to cut it off. But it's too late now, and they're just lying side by side in the dark while the lantern burns out unhelpfully. Junmyeon's  breath sticks to the insides of his cheeks, to the inner walls of his lungs, so he doesn't force it. 

After a while, after he comes to think it's pleasant, Jongdae says softly; "I think we should go to bed," and Junmyeon could laugh because they've been lying half-on half-off the mattress for a good chunk of the day. 

"Sure," he says, smile in his voice. He's not sure if he can sleep- the wind is rattling the shingles on the roof outside, threatening to be pulled off line by line like knitting stitches. And he can't be too sure if he's tired either, but in any case, he's definitely sleepy. 

Neither of them make any attempts to move. Junmyeon's sure that when he sits up, the sheet will have to be peeled away from him, and he'll be imprinted in the 70 percent polyester like some sort of fossil. Then Jongdae turns so they're facing each other, his mouth hangs open like he's mortified. "I don't want to sleep on the floor," he admits, and Junmyeon can't help but laugh this time. 

"We can trade," he says. 

"But you're the guest..." Jongdae's trying very hard to seem conflicted, though he's caving into the idea of waking up without a broken spine from the hardwood floor. Last night, Junmyeon had heard him sneeze occasionally from the dust between the planks- but it didn't bother him too much. Jongdae sneezed like a kitten, quiet and quick, and he probably thought that he'd been the only one to notice. 

"It's fine," Junmyeon says, and makes it a point as he pushes himself off the mattress(he was right, the sheets stick a bit, but more like static electricity than anything else- and then it eases back down onto the floor) and plops back down where Jongdae had slept. His pillow isn't as soft as the one on the bed, blanket quite cold. 

"If you're sure..." Jongdae mumbles, as if he's not completely pleased with the new bedding situation. Junmyeon doesn't see him again before he tries to go to sleep- it's his common sense that stops him. 

But it's cold, and uncomfortable, and he can't imagine the back pains he'll have to deal with later if he lets the situation rest(unlike his poor self). 

"Fuck," he says, rather loudly. He hears Jongdae turn in his bed. "I'm not sleeping like this, move over."

"You're kicking me out of my own bed?" Jongdae laughs. 

"You're short, I'm short, we can fit in one bed," says Junmyeon, all nonchalant, like it didn't take all of his confidence to say. He throws the pillow so it lands gracefully on Jongdae's head, who whines slightly. It's night but the hair at the back of his neck is visible. It's short, clearly  he'd taken a razor to it at some stage. He keeps himself well, even though there's no one to witness it. Which is a shame. God, he's hot. "Move, I said," he repeats and Jongdae does this time. Begrudgingly, a bit hot in the face. Acting like a teenage girl,  he huffs so his hair's blown off his forehead and averts his eyes, maybe even pouts. 

Their whole sides are pressed against each other, and all Junmyeon can think is *what more?* 

"Good night," Jongdae murmurs after a while, sounding incredibly sexy in his half-asleep daze. Deep breaths, Junmyeon. 

"Night,” he manages through it all.

 

In foresight, Jongdae should've known how they'd wake up. It's awkward and quiet when they have to sort of- what is it, separate?- from each other. Only to realise there's not much to do as the washing pole frees itself from the ground with a particularly strong gust of wind, and whacks unceremoniously against the window. 

"Shit," Jongdae mutters, picking himself up and heading straight to the door. When he twists the doorknob, the hinges fly open and the door smacks against the wall just as the pole had done. He grits his teeth and bears it. 

The leaves have been stripped from the shrubbery that are too close to the house for comfort. A skeleton of a tree stands where the evergreen once was, it's storm season, and it's a bad one. He manages to the washing pole, but instead of picking it back up, he tugs the sheets off the line so the pegs snap back onto the linen and cling there as he drags the heaps back in. 

To Junmyeon's questionable expression, he says "How many merchants do you think come out here that sell sheets?" and apparently, that's all he needs to say anyway because Junmyeon laughs then, gorgeous and ugly all at once. It's overwhelming. Jongdae distracts himself with pulling the pegs off the corners of the sheets. They go all dog eared, creases everywhere. He *thinks* he might have an iron.

"Breakfast?" he says. 

 

Subsequently, Jongdae's afternoon is spent brooding over an ironing board. It's got a plaid cover, the colour of grass stains that never quite rub off on it, as much as he's used it as a clothes rack before. He was right. There is an iron, in the back of the cupboard. Really, he shouldn't be surprised- he has a lot of things in there, for whatever reason, all useless enough to him that he forgets about them. The sheets were crumpled like raised velvet when he'd taken them in. Now, they're pressed and folded neatly on a small stack at the nose of the board, dipping off slightly because nobody's perfect. 

Junmyeon sits crosslegged and facing away, which isn't a problem until Jongdae can't stand the pattern before him and is left staring at his back. He's forgotten to fold his collar down and it juts upwards at the back slightly. A small sliver of his neck is visible above that, the sunburn's gone and it's left a ghostly pale colour. He's sorting through Jongdae's collection of books, and he supposes it must be a bit entertaining seeing as he's been at it for hours and it's all about fish. 

"I'm bored," Jongdae says unintentionally. He's used to making little comments to himself, and old habits die harder than new ones, like going pink whenever Junmyeon looks at him, though that one's been hard to kick as well. 

"Well," Junmyeon looks out the window. Not only is there wind, but now the window's shining with a fresh layer of rain. As if he needed to see it to believe it. You could probably hear the house shaking from the beach. "I don't know how to help with that, sorry," he admits, followed by a skinny laugh that shows how disappointed he is with himself in this moment. 

Jongdae wonders whatever for, and then he wonders when he moved to sit next to Junmyeon. He looks at the spines of the book stacks before him, and they look back, perfectly uniform since Junmyeon got to them. "Let me preface this," he starts, and Junmyeon turns his head to watch him. His eyebrows are raised up past his hair, so Jongdae brushes it off his forehead. The curls feel frizzy with the climate, and more than likely from lying in bed loads, too. "By saying that I'm an impatient person," he moves his hand to Junmyeon's jaw then. The skin isn't tough like a sailor's, but it's not soft either. It feels nice and hot when Jongdae runs his hand over it to prop Junmyeon's chin up, even though they're both the same height.

He feels his heart in his throat, which isn't a good thing for what's to come, but he can't help it right now. This is a make or break sort of situation. His heart pulses, in there, brushing against the back of his molars because he's stuck now, overthinking and Jongdae why do you do the things you do look I know you really like him and I feel bad for you because of it but you only met two days ago and he's going to leave you and he's licking his lips fuck and if he's going to leave soon it's not like you have much more time to be able to do this just fucking kiss him already and- oh. His lips are against Junmyeon's, sort of awkwardly but otherwise without complaints, because it's as nice as he'd thought it would be regardless. For a second, they don't move, stunned into motionless manikins(but not emotionless, that much is *very clear* to them both). Jongdae's sure of many things in this moment, as Junmyeon's hand stutters to his waist and he leans forward the smallest bit more in a way that signifies 'okay, I'm into this'. Firstly, Jongdae's sure that Junmyeon is quite honestly the best, and secondly, he's sure that he is quite taken by Junmyeon, and thirdly, he's sure that Junmyeon's quite taken by him, too. What he's unsure of, is of who started the kiss. He was too lost in himself at the time, and lost at the thought that although he was lost in himself there was a staggering amount of Junmyeon to be found in his brain, anyway, so it was useless as far as actions went. And he still doesn't know who had initiated, until Junmyeon pulls away.

With a shaky laugh loaded full of nervous energy, Junmyeon says "Don't tell me you did that just because you were bored." 

Jongdae hums and wonders how serious that statement was, because he's pretty sure he's been damn obvious about his adorations so far. He doesn't have to show himself yet, not when it's funny to see Junmyeon go all pink faced. Maybe he's a tease, or maybe he's just cruel. "That might've been a factor," he concludes, and Junmyeon rolls his eyes just for him. They're wide like the dinner plates that neither of them can own, as if he's trying to capture everything like some sort of nostalgia glossed photograph that's already been tinted; rose. Or maybe it is that wonderful. Jongdae looks at Junmyeon again, steals a glance, and decides that it is. He widens his eyes. Junmyeon laughs prettily, and reaches outwards so their hands are touching. He has nice hands, small. Like a hand model. Though, Jongdae supposes, Junmyeon could model a lot more than his hands with that face of his. It's(he's) smiling so broadly the jaw could unhinge, uglily(Figure A: Jongdae makes up words just for Junmyeon) beautiful. 

"You're so cruel," Junmyeon  says, but he seems impressed by something or other. And then there's the smile, which perseveres, or overtakes him until nothing that could leave his mouth would be anything other than breathless and slightly flattering. 

"What do you want from me?"

"A confession, that's all I ask." 

Jongdae pretends to think about it, though it's been playing in his mind since he'd thought the words up. He's convinced that there's a record in his brain that spins and spins, in his own voice that grows increasingly nervous, saying it. "I like you," he shrugs to downplay what is actually very important to him. The record doesn't stop so much as get flipped, and he hears himself more confidently repeating it, until he realises it's not in his brain but coming out of his mouth. And Junmyeon's red like he'd been on the first day. For different reasons now, hopefully(nope, definitely). 

"Cheesy," Junmyeon says, "That's so cute, honestly."

"Didn't you want me to say it?"

"Obviously."

"You say it too, then, I'm dying of suspense over here."

Junmyeon inhales like it's taking a great effort to do so, and his hair is all messy('*I did that*' Jongdae's brain supplies), and he's still going to break his own jaw from smiling, and it all should be very ugly but there's no way that it could be because it's *him*. "I like you too, but you knew that anyway."

"I didn't," Jongdae replies softly, happy to hear it all the same. "Can I kiss you again?"

And they do, Jongdae feeling the hand at the back of his neck, but it's not scary like all the other times he's felt it. Or maybe it is in its own way, feeling lightheaded, like he's standing at the base of a waterfall and all he can hear is the water splattering against its own surface, making a mess out of his mind. He's so stupid. But then again, he's never been in love before. It has to count for something. 

"That was nice," Junmyeon mumbles after they pull away again- just barely. If he moved a centimeter, their cheekbones would be pressed together. And he would feel Jongdae's but Jongdae wouldn't feel his. He pushes up closer, so their knees are no longer brushing. They're pressed against each other. Deliberacy can feel nice, he thinks. 

"Again," is all Jongdae says, again, again, again, until it doesn't need to be said anymore because it's happening before he can even string the letters together in his head. 

Again again again again again. 

 

The storm comes and goes. Like the whirlwind it could've been, it leaves evidence of its destruction in its wake. A dent in their food supply, grass torn from the ground, washing line virtually gone. But when it's over it brings its messiness along, carefully packed up and led out. 

Junmyeon can hardly believe how watery the island feels when he steps outside. It's not just the drizzling rain. Moreso the complete calmness that he hadn't witnessed before, the seagulls out where they belong instead of plucking flowers from the ground for the seeds. The air isn't stale, not like in the house, which is admittedly stuffy. He takes another five paces out and turns to wait for Jongdae, who emerges from inside with a grin on his face and an umbrella tucked under his arm. He owns one raincoat; the blue one that Junmyeon's wearing. They don't have to share the umbrella but they do anyway.

As they walk, the water sloshes into their shoes like the ground has pores. 

"It's so weird to be out here again and I don't know why," Junmyeon says as some rain runs down the curve of the umbrella, and subsequently, down the slope of his nose. Jongdae wipes it off and laughs at how he goes pink- after all they've done. 

Still laughing, but more with his voice, "It's because things changed," his hand between them is looped around the umbrella's handle, which is insulating the coldness, that strange amber coloured plastic melted to a curl. Junmyeon hopes it'll stop raining soon so there won't be a need to hold the thing up anymore, and Jongdae can hold his hand instead. Also because he hates the rain. Yeah, that'd be nice. 

They go to the beach, and make footprints in the sludge that the sand became. Junmyeon's shoes sink into what feels like quicksand, and he has to raise his knees so high to walk at all, and they stumble to the shoreline where his boat is still tied with that rope he'd tripped over when he first arrived. It's battered a bit, but mostly scrapes on the paintjob from where it was whacking against the rocks. Nothing serious. It'll float, and he'll float with it, out to some other place where he can buy hot food and some much needed repairs. He's busying himself with checking the innards of the thing, but they're nonexistent. He'd brought his lantern up to the house. The rest probably sank to the bottom of the ocean. Nothing important, he figures. Otherwise he'd have brought them up, too. 

When he turns around Jongdae is watching him. This is nothing new; they're always doing cheesy shit like gazing at each other, but Jongdae doesn't look sad, or happy, just thoughtful. Junmyeon doesn't ask, because he knows Jongdae will appreciate it if he doesn't. He walks over and links their arms, just because he can. The rain from his coat soaks through Jongdae's sleeves, who doesn't mention it. Junmyeon gets a smile from him. It's full of teeth, and then Jongdae follows it up by singing that song from the first day. 

Later, he says "I just keep thinking about it whenever I'm by the sea, you know?" 

 

As of last night, Junmyeon has a promise to fulfill. And that is to take Jongdae fishing. He'd been asked eagerly, which surprised him, seeing as Jongdae's much too exciting to enjoy monotonous work. 

He, of course, intends to fulfill it anyway. 

And so they head out to the beach, where there footprints from yesterday remain. The day is nice- the sun's up after its short term hiatus. With it comes shimmers on the waves, that roll gently today. In other words, it's the perfect day. 

Jongdae steps onto the boat and walks to the end with perfect balance, from all the time he's raided ships. Then he takes a seat near the nose of the boat, acts like it's a perch- legs crossed and hands on his shoes so he'd fall in if the wind blew the wrong way. Junmyeon laughs and shakes his head, but doesn't tell him to move because they both know he won't and it's perfectly fine, anyway. He hands Jongdae the hook and line, just so he has something to do with his hands while Junmyeon actually rows the boat out a dozen or so meters from the sand. They use that tin of sardines they'd found in the box as bait("isn't that cannibalism?" "not if we don't catch sardines, no"). Junmyeon spotted the shadows flickering under the water, the ones that fish cast. He's fine again. 

"Fuck," Jongdae mutters, bringing his hand to his face. "Fuck, Junmyeon."

"What is it?"

"I fucking cut myself with the hook," there's blood leaking down his thumb, from the sharp line at the tip. His whiney voice makes an appearance again. 

"Oh, are you okay?"

Jongdae nods, but his face is all shrivelled up. "I'd be useless as a sailor, right?"

Junmyeon blinks at him, then tucks the oars back into their resting place. He scooches over to Jongdae, takes his hand, uses his shirt to wipe the blood off. "You're so dramatic," he scoffs playfully. "One cut and you're questioning everything."

"Leave me alone," Jongdae whines, but doesn't move away. 

"And to answer your question, you'd be a great sailor, so shut up. Why would you want to be a sailor anyway?" 

Jongdae shrugs his reason away. "I'm okay," he says, "You’re right, sailors are boring. Maybe that’s why I can’t be one.”

"Don't I know it," Junmyeon replies, face twisting into a grin.

Jongdae watches and goes pink, yet again. First love is strange like that. 

He sings while they cast their lines, sings while they reel the fish in. He first catches a carp, one thats skin shimmers silver, it flops for a second before lying still. 

"Wow," he breathes. "You really have to watch things die constantly, huh?"

"Morbid, but I suppose so," Junmyeon replies. It makes Jongdae laugh a little. They've had similar pasts. He hopes they can have similar futures, too.

 

Jongdae watches the ceiling. It's pitch black, so it's almost like he's gone blind. He can see nothing at all. Which, all things considered, might be a good thing. 

"I'll have to leave," Junmyeon tells him. Jongdae can feel his breath on his neck, which means that Junmyeon's watching for a response. "Soon, too. I’ve got people who’re probably worried about me..."

He doesn't continue. Guess he's leaving it all to Jongdae, now. "Oh," Jongdae says, because it's not like he hadn't missed this very important detail before. But he thought they'd ignore it until it was an issue. Maybe that's what's happened already. 

Since Junmyeon came, Jongdae learned how not being alone felt. And now that Junmyeon's going, the prospect of being alone in the first place has lost all of its appeal. It only took one person to practically ruin his old way of living. It's not a loss if you never gained in the first place. He supposes loneliness isn't an absence, but an aftertaste. 

He's never left the island. Never seen the world. There was no way he could do it all by himself- he's not strong like Junmyeon, who's sure of every step he takes, even if it's not obvious at first. 

"I'm sorry," Junmyeon says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Jongdae doesn't respond. 

 

Jongdae watches him undo the rope again, step into the ship. The morning sun is high on the sky, like its descending towards earth rather than rolling above it. It makes everything the colour of egg yolk- grey tinged yellow. Junmyeon turns for a look. They kissed, of course. 

If this was a movie, Jongdae thinks there'd be some sort of lowkey orchestral music playing, not overbearing but with a clear presence. But he's not an actor and this is really happening, and that's the problem. 

"I'll miss you," Junmyeon tells him, smiling because he's trying to be the strong one, as Jongdae clearly can't do that himself. There's something he wants to say, Jongdae knows. But Junmyeon's selfless and he'll keep it in. That's another problem right there- the notion of unsaid words. Jongdae knows he has some, anyway. They're inside him, like the steam in a boiling pot that's threatening to push the lid off. 

He watches Junmyeon row out, ten something meters away. His curly hair that he chronically combs. His pale skin, small hands around the oars, perfect posture... back. The lid clatters to the kitchen floor with the realisation of it all.

"Fuck, Junmyeon!" he calls out. When Junmyeon turns round, looks back at him, his eyes are full of hope that Jongdae wants to live up to. "God, can't you be selfish for once in your life?!"

"What do you mean?" Junmyeon calls back. 

"You're always thinking of other people and I'm sick of it! Just be selfish for once, and ask me to come with you!"

Junmyeon's eyes widen at this, mouth hangs open for a minute, all as pretty as ever, "You would?!" 

"Of course, you idiot!! You'd better come back for me!"

So Junmyeon turns the boat back around, and when it hits land he leaps out to wrap his arms around Jongdae. He's still dazed, though Jongdae can't figure out why for the life of him. 

"Will you come with me?" Junmyeon asks, smiling. Jongdae rolls his eyes and nods. 

 

They make quite a pair. In the end, Jongdae's catching more fish than Junmyeon, and it surprises himself as much as it surprises their income. Junmyeon loves this development dearly, even though he's secretly bitter(he's been fishing for his whole life and Jongdae, a man who threw a hissyfit over a simple cut, is already better than him?). The whole situation is very soppy- they buy a little radio together so Jongdae can sing to it(and Junmyeon joins in too sometimes, to his delight), and a blue fishing rod, and cans of cherries. They say 'I love you' so often that it's actually disgusting for anyone but themselves to watch. Months later, they visit Junmyeon's cousin Jongin's studio apartment, which happens to be in the first city Jongdae ever visited. He's shocked and astounded by the existence of subways. And if his first love is Junmyeon, his second love definitely has to be the city, which he stumbles through with Jongin's helpful tour guiding.

It's your typical happy ending, but atypical for the both of them, who'd expected nothing and found everything in each other. 

And as for the boat, it gets the paint job that it desperately needed- a shiny layer of red, so bright that you'd spot it from the horizon. Not that either of them are worried about that anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to M for being the best!


End file.
